Destiny
by Sihaya
Summary: Blaise Zabini had her eye on Draco Malfoy, but when she finally has him falling for her a certain Gryffindor Quidditch captain gains his own appeal. Will Blaise find happiness with Harry, or will Draco own her heart- forever?
1. Masquerade

Author's Note I hope you like it! I've never written a Blaise fic before, and this is only my second Draco-mance, so please be kind (or kinder than usual)   :0)

Disclaimer- canon belong to JKR.

Destiny

Masquerade 

               Blaise Zabini stepped off the Hogwarts Express in Hogsmeade for the seventh and last time in her life. Her gaze fell upon a scene familiar: bustling students of all ages swarming around the carriages, fighting to get a place with their friends. The thestrals were painfully visible, as always. Blaise had been exposed to various Death Eater murders since she was a little girl, and the horses were nothing new. However, there were shouts of terror and surprise as those who had witnessed Death since the beginning of the summer gazed upon the phantom horses. Blaise glanced coolly at them and sauntered towards her carriage, which was already occupied by Draco Malfoy and his Death Eater cronies Crabbe and Goyle. She had fashioned her confident front from the first moment she stepped on the Hogwarts Express and it had never come off since.

               She stepped gracefully into the midnight-black carriage and swung the heavy door closed. Draco's slanted moonlit eyes found her a moment later, and his telltale smirk crept upon his face. Blaise was not the only one who played masquerade while she was at Hogwarts. Draco was glad to see her. 

               Blaise tucked her grey pleated schoolgirl's skirt under her as she sat down next to Draco. The hem of the skirt came midway up her thigh, where it disappeared under the folds of the crisp white blouse that she had yet to tuck in. Her silver and green Slytherin tie was tucked in one of the belt loops of her skirt. She had been too lazy to tie it on the train and had simply left it there; the ends of the tie reaching farther down her leg than the skirt did. 

               Blaise surreptitiously glanced at Draco, surprised by how much he had changed since the end of their sixth year. He had grown at least three inches taller, and if they stood facing each other his chin would brush the very top of her nose, around where her delicately arched eyebrows met. His chin had grown stronger too, and his eyes had grown sharper. Blaise observed that he wasn't taking his new manly grooming duties too well: it was not yet late morning and already sparse stubble was showing on his chin. She was trying to gauge whether his hair, which now brushed his eyes, had grown a shade darker over the summer when he slid an arm around her shoulder and interrupted her chain of thought. 

               "Blaise," he said smoothly.

               "Draco," she answered, trying to ignore his fingers brushing her skin where he was fiddling with the collar of her shirt. The ends of his fingers were calloused but not overly rough- just the right texture for a rich young man who had cast a few Unforgivables in his short lifetime. 

               "Where's your tie?" he asked. Blaise tilted her head towards him and graced him with a small smile.

               "I could ask you the same question," she answered superiorly. Draco grinned and handed her his tie, which she then proceeded to tie around his neck. She tried to ignore the ends of his hair brushing her skin as she reached about his head to bring the tie around. As her hands knotted the silk Blaise thought of how happy she was that Draco had stopped gelling his hair back. Now that he had deviated from his father's hairstyle, he looked more relaxed and less severe. Blaise had even overheard some Gryffindor twits gossiping about how attractive they thought he was. They had been seventh years, too, something Blaise had never expected. She had known that Parvati and Lavender were ditzes but she had never suspected that Hermione Granger had ever given more than a passing glance to any member of the opposite sex. Blaise had to admit that the girl had also grown, and learned how to control her hair, but it was still Hermione Granger. It was probably the only time she would ever see he out from behind her telltale pile of textbooks. 

               When she was finished and had managed to detach her hands from running down Draco's shirt, the more forward of the two reached down the slipped her tie out of the belt loop of her skirt. He bestowed a wicked smile upon her as he then tied her tie, his hands brushing against her skin, as she had not yet buttoned the top two buttons on her blouse. Draco did that for her too, and for a moment Blaise wondered why he was suddenly bestowing so much attention on her in particular. Granted, it was the only year that she had been bold enough to sit in his carriage uninvited, and everyone in the school seemed to think that she had every boy in the palm of her hand. _Maybe that's why no one has ever really shown an interest in me,_ thought Blaise; _maybe they already think that I'm dating someone_. She had to admit that that had been her goal in the first place.  

               The carriages were pulling up to Hogwarts, its familiar turrets and features casting shadows across the hill. The thestrals pranced to a halt in front of the castle and the doors swung open on their own accord. Draco climbed out of the carriage first and waited for Crabbe and Goyle to lumber down from their seats before offering a white hand to Blaise. 

               "I don't need help getting out of a carriage, Draco," she said, her actions contradicting her words. She let Draco took her hand and did not fail to observe the disappointed glances that some of the other boys gave her. 

               "I've turned into a gentleman since last year," he replied. Blaise laughed, a soft tinkling sound that held a sincerity rarely found in a Slytherin. As Draco offered her a chair next to his in the Great Hall, Blaise watched the first years line up to be Sorted and recalled her own Sorting. The Hat had briefly, very briefly, considered putting her in Gryffindor. But the young girl had been raised among Slytherin Death Eaters, born and bred, and she had pleaded internally with the hat to place her in the house of her forefathers. The Hat had sighed and agreed and she had taken her seat, coincidentally right next to Draco Malfoy. She hadn't cared about him then. He was just another rich boy that her father knew. What could he do for her? 

               The first few children had been sorted, one into Hufflepuff, one into Ravenclaw, and two into Gryffindor. It wasn't until the eleventh child that one was placed in the Slytherin house. "We're a dying race," dryly remarked a fifth year down the table. "A dying race." 

               Harry clapped heartily with the rest of his friends as two first years took their seats at his table. He was beaming, not just because his House had just grown by two people (and possible future Quidditch players). His buoyant and joyous mood had been caused by once again greeting his friends in Hogsmeade after a wonderful summer at the Burrow, and he had just received the excellent news from an aging McGonagall that he had been made captain of his Quidditch team. He had already been the subject of several future toasts, one that Lee Jordan wanted to make, and another by Hermione and a third by Colin Creevy, who had grown no less annoying since he had met Harry. But Harry felt that he wouldn't even get peeved at Colin today. Today was _his_ day. He felt on top of the world, like he would do or have anything he wanted, and he voiced this thought to Ron in no fewer words.

               "Anything, eh?" said Ron with a challenging raise of his red eyebrows. "What about that veela that we met fourth year? You think you would have the guts to talk to her now if she was here?"

               "Send an owl to Beauxbatons," said Harry exuberantly, "I'll ask her out now."

               Ron wrinkled his nose and cast his gaze about the Great Hall, searching for a harder challenge. His eyes tactfully avoided the Ravenclaw table, as matters with Cho had only gotten worse and tenderer since Cedric's death at the end of fourth year. "Ah," he said triumphantly, nodding towards the Slytherins, "what about that one? That Blaze or Blasé of Blaz girl?"

               "Blaise Zabini?" offered Hermione, who wasn't supposed to be listening.

               "That's the one!" said Ron, elbowing Hermione out of the conversation. "What about her?"

               Harry sighed. "I don't have anything to say to Blaise, Ron."

               "You don't have anything to say to Fleur, either." 

               "Hey," said Harry with a raise of his eyebrows, "I saved her sister's life. She _owes_ me." 

               Ron scoffed and watched the end of the Sorting ceremony, waiting eagerly for his cup to fill with the pumpkin juice that he had been looking forward to all summer. "She owed me a date to that damn Yule ball." Harry tried to ignore Hermione's dreamy sigh as if preventing Ron from hearing it. "Oh no," said Ron a moment later. "You're not still hung up on that Krum guy, are you?"

               " 'That Krum guy' used to be your hero, Ron," said Hermione, her voice retaining the girlish dreaminess of her sigh. 

               "_Used_ to be," stressed Ron as the desired pumpkin juice appeared and all three people fought to make their toasts at once. 

               "To Harry," said Lee Jordan raising his glass.

               "The best study buddy," added Hermione.

               "And Quidditch captain ever!" said Colin, smacking his glass against Hermione's and nearly causing a pumpkin juice disaster on her robes. Hermione's steady hand averted the spill, however, and she drunk deeply and heartily with the rest. Dumbledore observed all this with an extra twinkle in his eye and turned to say something to the Deputy Headmistress, who was seated next to a certain brooding Potions master.

               The said Potions master was observing his table, and his new Slytherins. Severus Snape also cast a glance towards Draco Malfoy, a favorite of his. The boy possessed all the qualities of a perfect Slytherin. Snape observed also that he was paying special attention to the Zabini girl this night. He raised his eyebrows delicately and raised his goblet to his lips. He was not drinking to Potter.


	2. Mirages

A/N- Morag MacDougal is not my character, but he _is_ mentioned on the same page that we first meet Blaise on in _The Sorcerer's Stone. _I noticed that JKR didn't assign him a house (let's make him a ship, too!) so I thought, why not make him a Slytherin? A really, really hot Slytherin? 

Destiny

Mirages

               Blaise graciously detached herself from Draco's strong hands but not from his steady, piercing gaze as she went to join Pansy and her other Slytherin friends. Pansy Parkinson had not changed since the sixth year and greeted her by asking for advice on various aspects of her life and showering compliments upon Blaise at the same time. Blaise took a deep breath and answered Pansy's questions, which mostly revolved around boys and acne, and made her best effort to accept the generous compliments even though she had never been talented at accepting them. However, she had learned to fake it, and flipped her hair back over her shoulder as she uttered a quiet 'Thank you, Pansy' and prompted more complimenting comments about her hair. 

               She was pleased to find that the Slytherin common actually felt like home this year. All six previous times that she had entered this room at the beginning of the year, the velvet forest-green draperies and the cold cinderblock walls had always seemed to oppress her in a way. Now, however, she was able to sink into the stuffed armchairs and look into the fire with a comforted feeling in her heart. It was a pity that she had found a home here her seventh year in. Blaise's gaze wandered from a group of devilishly attractive male sixth years to where Draco was seated, with his ever-present cronies, in a small cluster of three armchairs in the coldest corner of the room. She enjoyed a few moments of watching him while he was not watching her back before joining Pansy in the girls' dormitories.

               The dormitory was cold, and the thick carpet under Blaise's bare feet was not exactly sufficient in keeping out the cold from the stone floor. There had been hot bricks placed under the soft linen sheets, however, which softened the cool crispness of the fabric against her bare shoulders when she slid into bed. Blaise drew the draperies- forest green with silver trim, as always- around her bed in an effort to drown out the gossip of the girls she shared her dormitory with. Desperately she sent up a silent hope that Pansy would be less insufferable this year, and slowly her lids drifted shut and she fell into a dreamy sleep.

               Draco Malfoy had absolutely no intention of going to sleep in the near future. Crabbe had shown his potential by smuggling in some alcoholic butterbeer, term didn't start for a few more days anyway. Lucius's son had every intention of partying this night away without guilt. He popped the lid off one of the bottles and took a deep swig, much to the apprehension of some first years. Draco was confident that they wouldn't tattle on him, however, and he took another drink. It wasn't like he couldn't talk his way out of punishment with Snape anyway. He could count on one had the amount of times he had gotten in trouble with the head of his House. 

               The alcohol, as always, enhanced his already strong emotions. Draco's glazed eyes wandered around the common room, which had magically emptied in less than what seemed like five minutes, searching for Blaise. Several times he thought he saw her, but they were only hallucinations, like mirages in the desert. He had consumed more alcohol that he had realized and woke up the next morning with his lips buried into a pillow, sprawled out across the arms of his chair. Hastily he righted himself from this embarrassing position, put was punished for it when he was overcome by an unbearable wave of pain that seemed to squeeze his temples closer together with every breath. Ignoring the loudly snoring Crabbe and his companion Goyle, Draco stumbled towards the stairs and reached out a hand towards the stone banister. Slowly he climbed the stairs, only to realize that he was heading towards the girls' dormitories and not towards his own room. Too tired and hung over to correct his mistake he passed out, slumped against the nearest door. 

               The mirage had led him to the door of the seventh year girls' bedroom. 

               It was Pansy that opened the door first, only to let out her trademark squeal and wake every single person in the dormitories. "Draco Malfoy!" she said with obvious pleasure at finding the most attractive boy in the school sprawled out in her bedroom. The commotion sat Blaise straight up in her bed, the hot brick brushing her toes with lingering warmth. When she realized that there was no emergency she let out an aggravated groan. It became apparent to her that this year with Pansy would be no different that the last year, if not worse. It was going to be a long semester. 

               Defeated, she pushed back the draperies and swung her feet over the bed. A dim grey light, like sun rays shining through a thick fog, chased the shadows in her bed back a bit but still did not make them disappear. The heavy cloth swung behind her as she pushed the rest of it out of her way so that she could grab her dressing gown before Draco opened his eyes. It was a silky night color, and it reached to just above her ankles. She didn't bother to rope it shut and only drew it closed over her nightclothes, which she didn't wish Draco to see- just yet. 

               Blaise joined Pansy in crouching over the sleeping Draco, who looked groggy but disturbingly innocent in his alcohol-induced slumber. His hair was mussed and falling all over the place, the startling opposite of the hair of the first year Draco. Draco's hair, however, was one of the changed that Blaise most welcomed. She thought it suited him.

               "What do we _do _with him?" said Pansy in the tone that a Muggle girl might use had she found Matt Damon in her bedroom.

               "We take him to his dormitory," said Blaise in an obvious tone. "What else would we do with him? _Don't_ answer that," she said as she lifted Draco's arm and let it fall back to the floor to ensure that he was completely knocked out. "Help me carry him."

               Pansy nodded and delicately lifted Draco's feet off the floor. Blaise took him under the shoulders and guided the odd threesome down the stairs and then back up again, as they headed to his dormitory. The heavy mahogany door into the seventh year dormitory creaked painfully loudly as Blaise pushed it rudely open with her shoulder, but thankfully none of the two boys inside stirred from their slumber. Blaise could not have thrown Draco's head and shoulders onto the bed with less care, but Pansy carefully arranged his feet on the sheets and then proceeded to tuck him in like a mother putting an infant to bed. Blaise hurriedly shooed Pansy out of the room and resisted the urge to smell Morag MacDougal's sheets as she left the room herself. 

               Harry stirred from his restful slumber to rays of bright sunshine coming through his window and creeping past the maroon draperies that hung around his bed. He pushed the hangings back and checked to see if Ron, Dean, Seamus and Neville were still asleep. They were, and in various strange positions of repose. Ron's mouth was open but Harry didn't want to get close enough to see if he was drooling, Dean was completely under the sheets except for a single cowlick at the back of his head showing over the maroon, Seamus's head had ended up on the exact opposite side of the bed that it had started on and Neville was snoring loudly, his head hanging upside down over the edge of his bed and causing a lump in the boy's own hangings. A Remembrall, remarkably silent, sat on Neville's beside table. Harry tried to push the thought of Neville's innocent face with a scar engraved upon it from his head as he strode over the window and looked across the grounds. They rolled away from him in rich green hills, being overcome with forest as they went farther on. The path of the Hogwarts Express rode through the woods like the path of a serpent, ending in Hogsmeade, which was only visible by some trails of smoke rising above the treetops. The lake glittered in the early morning light as the sun climbed higher. Harry sensed movement behind him and guessed that it was Ron. "No squid yet," he said.

               "Eh," muttered Ron, rubbing his eyes and lazily reaching behind himself to draw the sheets up to his pillow. His redheaded friend gave a groggy laugh as he saw Neville's head before he walked over to the door, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "You coming, Harry?" he said through a yawn. "I'm going to get some breakfast." 

               Harry shrugged. "I'm not that hungry," he said. His friend hesitated, and Harry added, "I'll be down in a minute." Ron opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, swinging the heavy oak door closed behind him. Harry's attention returned to the grounds of the school in an unusual need to absorb every detail of them before he left at the end of this year. He was gazing at Hagrid's cabin when he was distracted by something running across the fields. He blinked his eyes a few times and the phantom disappeared, but for a moment he had thought that he had seen the stag. His Patronus. His father. 

               He turned from the window and crossed the room in a few long strides, exiting the room quietly as to not wake his friends. Ron had not yet left the common; he was having a 'discussion' with Hermione. As usual in the discussions, Ron was significantly redder than usual and Hermione was significantly more collected than usual. Ron was saying something about "Books?! Already?!!" when Harry joined them. Hermione peered out at him from under a heavy volume with a title engraved into the cover. _Advanced Potions for Advanced Students,_ read the title, and under it in the same script was written, _PNEWTs._

               "Puh-NEWTs?" asked Harry.

               "Pre- Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests," said Hermione happily. "You can never be too prepared."

               "The story of her life," said Ron sarcastically. "We didn't get any Pre-OWLs!"

               "It's like the Muggle tests," Hermione started to explain. "They have these tests that they take before they graduate that determine their future, just like the NEWTs will determine our future." Her voice was taking on the tone that Harry and Ron had labeled 'Hermione's Lecture.' 

               "We don't want to hear about the Muggles, Hermione," said Ron. "I've got a stomach to feed!"

               "Go on without me, I'll be right down," said Hermione, her eyes returning to the nastily small print of the volume. Ron scoffed and exited the portrait hole, Harry close behind him.

               "You should see Volume II," said Ron, "It's almost as thick as my hand!" 

               Harry shook him head. "I don't know how she does it," he said.

               "I don't know _why _she does it," said Ron as they ventured through the mazelike passageways of the castle, "And I don't think I want to know, either." 

               Harry was going to reply when his gaze fell upon Blaise, at the Slytherin table. He didn't know why it was bothering him so that he didn't have anything to say to her, and he wasn't sure why he wanted to talk to her so much either. He wasn't sure he wanted to know that, either. __


	3. Pyramid

A/N- spoilers for _Quidditch Through The Ages _in this chapter…eh. Don't flame me on that account. :0) 

Destiny

Pyramid

               A few hours later Harry found himself sprawled over a scarlet armchair in the Gryffindor common with nothing to do. Ron lay in a similar pose in the opposite chair, thumbing through _Quidditch Through The Ages_ for about the fiftieth time since the end of last term. Harry sighed and went over his mental list of things that he could do to liven up the hours until dinner. An unlikely rain had picked up since breakfast, or they would have been outside playing Quidditch. The weather limited their options to wizard chess, which they had already played twice already, sneaking around in the Invisibility Cloak, which would have been stupid since it was broad daylight and they had nothing to see, and otherwise wandering the hallways while completely visible still in search of something to do. 

               "What do you want to do?" asked Harry. 

               "Not the library," mumbled Ron into the pages of the illustrated book. Harry glimpsed a Chudley Cannon speeding by as he pictured Hermione, sitting in the library, reading as always. He feared that he would never understand the connection Hermione had with the library, with the seemingly endless rows of books to choose from. Sometimes it took her an hour just to find the book she wanted to read, and then she would spend twice as long reading it, sitting in one of the uncomfortably unpadded chairs that Madame Irma Pince kept around. The only thing about the library that was intriguing to Harry was the Restricted Section, and that was, of course, forbidden. Sometimes when the boredom hit he would go down to the library to look up the list of forbidden books and then go see if they were available in the bookshop in Hogsmeade, but he just wasn't in a rebellious mood in the moment. He was sure it would hit later on, though, as it always did. 

               "Wanna play Gobstones?" asked Ron.

               "Not really," answered Harry, his eyes burning at the mere thought of the game. He had lost extremely badly to Ron a number of times and did not wish to repeat the experience- _any_ of the experiences. He watched the golden letters that formed the name of the author of _Quidditch…_ dance in the firelight. It was interesting how a boring name like Kennilworthy Whisp could be made fascinating by an unusual lighting. For a minute Harry watched the Cannons fly around, blurs of orange. He watched them score and punch their fists in the air, shouting their motto (at the time,) 'We shall conquer!' Harry found it odd and a bit funny that he knew the look on the faces of the losers too well. He had seen that face on those of his opponents many times. Harry supposed he was fortunate to have such talent bestowed on him but such things were easy to take for granted.

               Ron slapped his book closed and tossed it halfheartedly onto the floor, where it did a lazy flip and landed open on its back, the pages fanning open and providing a dizzying spectacle of moving pictures. Harry watched the kaleidoscope for a few moments before he reached down and pushed the book closed. "We could go visit Hagrid," Harry said, "I'm willing to brave the weather just to shove this boredom." 

                Ron shrugged and sat up from his uncomfortable position across the hard arms of the squashy chair. He ran a pale hand through his hair, which fell haphazardly back into place. It fanned messily across his forehead like the pages of the book, and it too flickered in the fire. The corner of Harry's lip twitched as he stretched and got to his feet. The thick burgundy carpet sank a centimeter or two under the soles of his feet as he strode across the room, enjoying the feeling of being on top of the pyramid. All his life he had had the seventh years to look up to, and now he was a seventh year. He had become his own role model. Harry let a slightly smug smile spread across his face as he surveyed the high stone walls and the masonry where they met the ceiling. The fringe on the Gryffindor tapestry fluttered in a draft as the portrait hole opened and Ginny Weasley stepped into the hole. Her eyes darted from her brother to Harry, and then around the perimeter of the room searching for any others. "Hello Ron, Harry," she said, shifting the books she had tucked under her arm.

               "Where were you?" inquired Ron in a non-interested voice.

               "In the library with Hermione," Ginny answered. Harry noted the inches that she had grown that he had never noticed. It was strange that this awkwardness still existed between them even though he had lived practically with her the entire summer. The Burrow was not just his second home anymore, it was his _home,_ and the only place he was willing to call home save Hogwarts. However, though Harry noted her physical changes he failed to notice the tightness of her smile whenever she saw fit to bestow one upon him. Ginny had withdrawn herself from Harry; she was wise enough to have learned from her first mistakes. Though somewhere in her heart may have lurked a hidden attraction to the handsome Seeker, she would certainly be the last to know. 

               "Is she doing schoolwork?" asked Harry with a grin upon his face. Ginny nodded sharply.

               "She's halfway through the second PNEWT volume," she answered as she set her own books down on one of the mahogany desks that were lined up against the wall. The portrait of a goblin that adorned the cover of the top book moved slightly as she slid it to the corner of the desk and set her bag next to it. As she drew her inkwell and some sheaves of parchment out of her bag, Ron got to his feet and bustled nosily over to where his sister was standing.

               "Not you too!" groaned Ron. "Hermione's gotten to you." 

               "I wanted to know more about this particular rebellion," said Ginny, tapping the end of her pen against the portrait on the cover. "I think it's fascinating," she said defensively as Ron groaned again. 

               "Like we need another history buff in the family," he said, sounding disappointed.

               "We haven't got a history buff, _Ronald_," Ginny answered. "Charlie and Bill may be intelligent but I bet they can't tell you a thing about the goblin rebellion of 1562," she continued as she opened the book to dull, grey colored pages with spidery print written across it in neat rows. Ron, however, had already pushed open the portrait hole as his sister finished what she was saying. 

               "C'mon, Harry," said Ron, jerking his head towards the door, "I've had enough goblins for one afternoon."

               "Goodbye, dear brother," Ginny called after them as the portrait hole swung closed with a _thwap_ and left Ginny entirely alone in the common. She waited a moment before she let her forehead drop onto the grey pages and the pen slip from her hand. It was only a few days into the school year and already she felt sick and tired of everything that was going on around her. The confused feelings about Harry paired with the ever growing threat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was two much for her already mature heart to bear. A nasty voice in the back of her head whispered, _Harry isn't afraid to say his name_. Some urge to beat Harry in some invisible competition opened her mouth and forced the fiery syllables out. "Voldemort," she whispered to the spine of her book. When flames did not erupt around her she lifted her head and glanced around the common. The same stone walls and scarlet tapestries greeted her with open arms. A small, satisfied smile crossed her face as she picked up her pen and began to scratch a few notes of background information down on the parchment. "I can be stronger," she told herself, "I don't have to let Harry hurt me." She worked in silence for a long time, information about bloody rebellions pushing all thoughts of Harry from her young mind.

               Blaise Zabini found herself in a similar situation as she sat in the common room battling an easy Pansy at chess. The Slytherin common felt like it was missing something, missing the comatose Draco. She had checked in on him secretly a few moments ago and he was still sleeping off the alcohol. Crabbe and Goyle had not been so fortunate and had elected to spend the afternoon down in Madame Pomfrey's- an idiotic choice, overall. They had lumbered out of the common attempting to clutch their heads and their stomachs at the same time, groaning and moaning about the previous night's exploits. 

               Once again Pansy found herself checkmated within four moves and Blaise found herself being showered with comments that ran along the lines of, "How did you do that?!" Blaise sighed and decided not to tell Pansy the truth. Saying, "You suck at chess, Pansy!" didn't seem to be the smartest idea as Pansy was the only person that she had to hang out with at the moment. Blaise glanced around the room at the other Slytherins that had found themselves on a rainy afternoon with nothing to do. A fifth year was deep in schoolwork at one of the corner desks, a heated Gobstone battle had erupted between two second years and a quiet, brooding sixth year sat engrossed in a book in one of the forest armchairs. 

               Her eyes moved from the sixth year back to Pansy's adoring face and then to rest finally on the checkered board that lay on the table in front of her. She ran a finger over the smooth painted glass surface of the board and tapped the base of one of the black Knights with her fingernail. The horse pawed in protest for a moment before settling back into its original pose and it's shiny façade. Blaise crossed her legs under the table and was reminded that she would have to shave soon. She picked up her wand from the table and bid goodbye to Pansy as she went out into the girls' bathroom and into one of the shower stalls. The tub filled with water as Blaise lazily dipped the end of her wand into the water to make bubbles_. If there's nothing else to do, why not pamper yourself? _Blaise thought as she dipped a toe into the water to test its temperature. After she found it to her liking she slipped out of her skirt and watched the pleats spread out in a grey flower on the floor. Her blouse came off next, after she undid the few buttons that had been done before. She dropped the shirt onto the skirt and then removed her underwear before slipping into the warm water. As she slid her head down under the water and then back up again, she heard the faint sound of the outside door opening and someone going into the stall next to hers. Although the person turned on the bath water, Blaise could still hear sniffling noises coming from behind the full-length door. She smirked as she realized that the person was getting high off Muggle drugs. Blaise had tried various means of snorting and smoking but she hadn't really caught on to it the way others did. The offhand bag of cocaine, though, did sometimes find its way into her trunk under her dress robes. 

               Blaise seized her wand from the lip of the tub and glanced up at the light shining in from the little spaces where the full-length stall walls met the ceiling. She was thankful that these bathrooms were not built as Muggle ones were- the doors reached all the way down to the floor to ensure privacy. The only openings were the ones at the ceiling. Blaise pointed her wand at her hand and watched the gelatinous shampoo spill out into her hand. She washed her hair and conditioned it, and then she rinsed all the soap off her body and began to shave. The druggie in the next stall was still busy as she gathered her towels and her things and went back to the Slytherin common room. An unpleasant blast of cold tower air met her damp skin as she entered the room. Pansy had disappeared but had left the chessboard behind, and Blaise began to gather up the lifeless pieces in her hands as Draco came down the stairs. "Morning, sunshine," said Blaise as she tucked the chessboard under her arm and threw her towel over her shoulder. Draco greeted her with a hazy smile, the hung-over version of his normal smirk, and took the chessboard from her. He followed her up the stairs of the girl's dormitory, having long figured out the spell to prevent the stairs from turning into a slide. Pansy had ended up asleep on her bed, her nose pressed into the spine of a book, but otherwise the room was empty. Blaise deposited her towel in their communal hamper and arranged the chess pieces in their rightful containers. Draco leaned down and rested his head tiredly on her shoulder as she placed the king in its place. 

               "Tired?" Blaise said. Draco grunted. 

               "Never let me drink that much again," he mumbled into her hair.

               Blaise grinned. "Alright," she said, reaching over and running a hand through his hair. "You have to get out of here before Pansy wakes up, or she'll have a fit and accuse us of doing something." 

               "Maybe we _were_ doing something," said Draco.

               "You're too hung over to do anything," Blaise reminded him.

               "I'm never _that_ hung over," Draco said. Blaise considered him for a moment but then decided that although he might be in the mood to do _some_thing, she was still to wet to feel that attractive. 

               "Maybe later," she said, helping Draco off the ground and following him out of the dormitory. He tapped the stair rail a couple stairs down and expertly slid down the remained of the steps while Blaise tumbled down after him. Draco caught her after he landed, but Blaise was laughing to hard to notice his hand brushing the naked skin of her thigh. 

               "Bastard," she said.

               Draco grinned. "You know it."  


End file.
